Losing Amy
by Alexandria-likethecityinEgypt
Summary: At eleven, Robin is a veteran crime-fighting hero with a lot of experience under his utility belt, but there is one thing that no amount of training can prepare him for, and that is failing. (I do not own Batman or Robin - And that is such a shame.) Some Language/Guilt/Grief. {Listed 11th in the YDG series.} Unspecified HIATUS.
1. The Perfect Night

**No Warnings in this chapter . . .**

* * *

Amy Caldwell was excited but then why wouldn't she be? She and her new husband, Chad, and his parents had flown into Gotham City two days ago to attend a special, private, charity auction. It wasn't just any old auction either; it was also an elegant gala event that required all the attendees to wear glamorous gowns or tuxedos. While Chad was used to such things, being from a family of old money, Amy wasn't. Her family was middle class and from peasant stock for as far back as anyone knew. This was brand new for her and they were going as part of a celebration of Amy's recent promotion.

She had met her husband in a fine arts class while they attended a top-of-the-line, ivy-league University. Chad's family's name guaranteed his entry while Amy got in through a scholarship program. His major had been financing; hers, a double major in art and history. Chad went on to join his father's investment firm while Amy became an assistant professor of both art and history at the very same university they had both attended. She taught a couple of fine art classes, an art history course and two history courses. The art history course was all about the Renaissance which was why she was so excited. The university was awarding her tenure and making her an associate professor of Fine Art. It was the first step in her goal to reach full professorship and eventually department chair.

The auction had advertised several paintings done by Renaissance artists were going to be displayed and auctioned off during the event. Her husband's parents were going to help them to purchase one of these paintings for the couple's own future collection and Amy was beside herself with glee. Although Chad's parents hadn't been thrilled when he had first announced his intention to marry Amy, her bubbly personality and ability to blend with her environment, _in other words, Amy's ability to blend with society_, had eventually won them over.

Now, with her distinguished career well on its way and the recent decision that she and Chad had reached about starting a family during the next year, Amy was ecstatic. Everything was coming together. On top of all of this, she was looking forward to an exciting evening with her wonderful husband and generous in-laws in a gorgeous new ball gown. Amy couldn't imagine being any happier. Life was better than good and this night was going to be _perfect_!

* * *

Daniel Quick was new to Gotham City but that didn't mean that he wasn't going places. He had moved here a few months ago from New York City where he had had a high-ranking position with one of the two major mafia families there. Now, he was being relocated to Gotham as an extension of the family's reach and to expand new markets. He had brought with him a half a dozen other men with him to help him organize this new branch. It wasn't expected to be a peaceful or easy job. After all, easy wouldn't have required him.

Although he wouldn't normally be involved in anything so pedestrian as armed robbery, it was necessary. He thought to make his presence known to the other organized crime syndicates that already operated here. It would be easy, he thought. In and out with the goods and then send them back to his New York connections. It would provide him with the extra funds he needed to enable him to buy off cops and judges and make him look good in the eyes of his own boss. It also sent a message throughout the underworld that Danny Quick wasn't no pushover! Danny Quick was a major player and someone the Gotham Underworld needed to learn how to respect or they would get dead . . . Real Quick!

He laughed at his own joke. That was his motto: _Get with the program or get dead – real quick: Daniel Quick_! He moved among his men as they passed out the weaponry. Military-grade automatic rifles were going to provide the bulk of what they needed to pull this off but a few well-placed grenades would add some pizzazz, and if there was anything that Daniel Quick had in spades, it was pizzazz.

The rich Gotham-types wouldn't know what hit them. He had planned this out with care and everything should go smoothly. The night was going to be _perfect_!

* * *

The night was going to be perfect, Robin thought. Already it had improved upon itself a hundred-fold, starting with the bat signal. This was so much better than attending a stuffy, old auction with a bunch of adults. He hated auctions. You couldn't even scratch your nose without worrying you might be going home with some ugly Chinese vase from some dynasty or another.

Well, that wasn't totally fair. These high-end auctions that Bruce would attend on occasion usually gave out paddles with numbers on them. That way people had the freedom to scratch their noses and stretch without breaking the bank, just as long as you didn't stretch with a paddle still in your hand, you were golden. But they lasted _forever_.

Most of the time, Bruce went to these charity events alone but sometimes he wanted his newly turned, eleven-year-old ward, Dick Grayson, to attend with him. That had been the case this evening. He had already showered and Alfred was helping him into his monkey suit when Bruce burst into his room half dressed. He had met Dick's eyes and said two words: bat signal! And suddenly the evening was saved!

The commissioner had told them of a rumors that the di Bastiani family was moving into Gotham and confirmed reports of a new supplier of drugs has shown up. There had been a couple of bodies found that resembled some of di Bastiani's execution-style murders lately and other incriminating evidence that supported the rumors.

Batman had chosen to swing by the most recent murder scene to see if he could find something solid that proved di Bastiani was behind the killing. It was while they were there that the call came through on the radio that there was an armed robbery in progress that was a potential hostage situation at the Le Grande Hotel.

Robin blinked. It looked like the auction might have been exciting to go to after all, he decided as he followed Batman back out into the night.

* * *

Chad and Amy walked around admiring some of the artwork that was for sale, those whose worth did not require constant guards. The party aspect of the evening was nearly over, and as the hour was closing in that the guests were expected to move towards the connecting room that was set up for the auction, the presence of security was increased. Men, with weapons plainly visible, moved in and amongst the crowd.

The program they had received told the order in which the pieces would be brought out and auctioned off. She and Chad had already chosen the painting that they would be bidding on. His parents had wired money into their account two days earlier to help cover the probable price they could expect to pay. They had a little time before their painting would be brought out so the couple snuck out onto one of the four balconies that lined the ballroom and the adjoining auction room.

Gotham City had a reputation as being a very dangerous city but at night it was beautiful, a rare gem. Its stains were hardly visible from here atop the reputable Le Grande Hotel Gotham and at nine o'clock in the evening, not at all. They leaned against the waist-high wall that made up the balcony's railing, enjoying the view. It was still cold this time of year but especially after the sun goes down. Times like this Amy kind of wished they lived further south in a state whose weather already felt the first kiss of summer. Chad had just taken off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders when they noticed the commotion.

"What was that," Amy asked.

Chad pushed her closer to the corner of the balcony where she would be partially hidden from view and edged carefully back to the French doors. His face contorted into one of shock.

"What is it, Chad?" Amy began moving towards him when he waved her back to the corner urgently.

Amy, frightened now, opened her mouth to ask another question, one that she hoped would finally be answered, when Chad covered her mouth with his hand. He hushed her and pushed her between a tall potted bit of shrubbery and the edge of the balcony. She wasn't stupid. She recognized immediately that he was trying to hide her from whatever was happening inside the ballroom.

"Those men," he whispered in her ear. "The ones we assumed were apart of security? They aren't. They're robbing the place."

Amy eyes widened. "Oh my God, Chad! Your parents! They're still in there!"

"I know but I don't see what I can do," he said, helplessly. "You need to stay here though, stay hidden."

"But they're bound to come out here sooner or later," Amy whispered.

"I won't let them hurt you," he promised her.

She shook her head. This was horrible! How could this be happening? This was supposed to be a celebration!

Chad took the coat from around her shoulders and started putting it back on. "No matter what happens, Amy, promise me that you'll stay back here, out of sight."

"What are you doing?"

"Like you said, they are bound to come out here sooner or later," he told her. "I'm going to lead them to believe I came out here alone . . . To smoke."

"You don't smoke," she reminded him, ridiculously.

He smiled at her, pushed her back as far as she could go, kissing her as he hadn't kissed her since the night he had first told her that he loved her. "Stay here," he whispered. "Stay quiet."

Amy reached for him. "Wait! Where are you going?"

Chad peeled her hands away. "I want to be as far away from you as I can when they find me."

He waved her back when she took a step to follow him. He moved silently and quickly to the other end of the balcony, praying that the men brandishing weapons didn't notice him. But they would. Sooner or later, they would.

* * *

**Reactions? What do you think of the players so far?**

**This is the prologue of sorts. An introduction before the meat of the story begins. Although there are quite a few original characters here, this will be centered around Robin and Batman. I thought it would be more meaningful though for you to know something about the characters that set this story off . . . **

**Oh, and I drew the cover image for this. My talented 13-yr old inked it for me. Let me know what you think. Should I just stick to writing?**


	2. Such A Good Boy

**WARNING: Language . . . (And maybe you should get out a few tissues)**

**There are several POV changes. I use a line to separate them, so it should be easy enough to follow (Especially with a head's up).**

* * *

Daniel Quick moved through the crowd, pushing people up against the wall. They were on a schedule. They had a time limit to get this done, get the items that they had come for, and get to the roof. The chopper would be here soon to pick up the take.

He had eight men with him. Only Daniel and three others would be taking the helicopter, however. The other men wore latex prosthetics on their faces that could be peeled off, and had a change of clothing under what they wore for the heist. They would split up taking the stairs and elevator shafts to make their transformations, and slowly make their way back to the rendezvous point.

He was a genius. This would be the greatest theft ever pulled in Gotham! Hell, it would top anything ever pulled in New York City as well. The police would pour over the security footage and eye-witness accounts, but wouldn't get one single ID on any of them.

He glanced at drapes that a half a dozen whimpering blue-bloods were huddled in front of and wondered if any of his men had thought to check the balconies. The entire floor had balconies set off of each of the ballrooms and conference rooms. He pointed to two of his men.

"Has anyone checked the balconies," he asked. "Anyone could be out there dialing 911. I won't have the cops showing up here too soon and ruining this for me."

The men split up between the ballroom and the auction room as the rest of the men began searching out and acquiring the specific artwork they were after and moving it in preparation for their departure. Daniel and one other kept an eye on the guests. He was tempted to move through the crowd and take his pick of the jewelry and wallets of Gotham's elite, but it would be a distraction they didn't need at the moment. The artwork would be more than enough without the penny-ante stuff that would surely put them behind schedule.

* * *

It hadn't been more than a few minutes before Chad had been proven right. A man with automatic assault rifle slung over his shoulder and a semi-automatic pistol stepped out of the ballroom and onto their balcony. Chad was standing near the solid railing, and pretended not to notice until the pistol made contact with his temple.

Amy gasped. She couldn't help it. She had never been in this sort of situation before and had no idea how she would react. As it was, she stepped out from the shrub behind which Chad had hidden her.

"Please," she begged. "Please, don't . . . Don't hurt him!"

Chad let out his breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and closed his eyes. He should have known Amy wouldn't have been able to stay hidden.

The man swiveled, pulling out another pistol to wave at his wife. The one against his head wavered slightly. It was enough. Chad pushed the gun away and moved to somehow subdue the man before he could harm his wife. But the gunman was a professional. The move, while surprising, was hardly enough to make him blink. He merely brought the second pistol around and shot Chad in the stomach.

Amy screamed and lunged forward.

* * *

Daniel looked toward the ballroom from which the scream had originated. He had been correct then in assuming there were people hiding out on the balconies. He didn't hear the shot that he assumed his man had fired. They all had silencers on the handguns, and they weren't to use the assault rifles unless they became necessary.

He knew that there was going to be the distinct possibility that someone would die here tonight. He wasn't fazed by the idea in the slightest. After all, Danny's first job for the di Bastiani family had been as an enforcer. Still, never one to leave things to chance, Daniel moved quickly to determine for himself if there was going to be a problem.

* * *

The crime was already in progress by the time Batman and Robin had gotten there. The screams had been reported by people in the conference room located near the ballroom on the uppermost floor of Le Grande Hotel in central downtown Gotham City.

The hotel was the stage for a large charity auction that had promised only the top of the line art pieces, the finest furnishings, and also boasted numerous famous and antique pieces of jewelry. Rich folks from all over the world had flown in for a chance to bid on valuable collectables in what promised to be one of the greatest auction event of the year all for the benefit of homeless and orphaned children; the proceeds of which would go to providing food and shelter, medical and dental treatments, and scholarships and remedial programs.

Robin followed Batman as they landed on a sheltered balcony outside of the rooms designated by the hotel for the auction and reception. There were several balconies they might have used, but Batman chose the one he thought was nearest the main activity. He had used his thermal imaging to find that the crowd of people was clustered near the balcony doors. They would provide cover for Batman and Robin to enter without the criminals seeing them until it was too late.

A few people were startled when the door opened and Batman entered quietly. He held his finger to his lips for silence, and they all quickly turned around nervously; trying desperately to pretend a large man in a bat costume wasn't moving around behind them.

Robin was about to follow when he heard a woman's voice coming from outside rather than in the room in front of him. He walked to the edge of the balcony and leaned out to look in both directions. There! He could see a woman weeping as two men yanked her up by her arms. He glanced over his shoulder. Batman would expect him to be inside. He wouldn't know where he was unless he searched for him or activated the locater chip Alfred had sewn into his costume last year. But an innocent woman needed him, and the danger of two gunmen unaccounted for was a definite problem.

One of the men moved to go back inside. Robin shot a line to the roof right above them, and leaped into empty space. The guy holding onto the woman spotted him a second too late, and Robin's boot heel connected with his chin. The gun went off with the soft whump and ping of the bullet casing hitting the railing. The gunman flew backward, dragging the woman down with him.

Robin landed straddling the man, following his kick with a hard punch to the face to make certain he stayed down. He kicked the pistol away, and pulled the rifle from his shoulder and tossed it toward the potted plant in the corner. Robin pulled the woman to her feet. She was staring behind him, and Robin looked to see another man staring sightlessly up at the night sky. It wasn't hard to tell that the dead man was her husband. But there was no time to allow her to grieve. The second gunman had turned back toward them.

Tugging the line, Robin leapt onto the railing. They were sitting ducks here. He pulled the woman toward a bench.

"Hurry, ma'am," he urged. "Climb on and hang onto me!"

* * *

Daniel had just closed the door when a flash of color and movement caught his eye. He thought he was seeing things and blinked. Some damned kid had just pulled a fucking Tarzan and knocked his man out! What the hell?

Commotion in the other room drew his attention. He needed to get in there and salvage this night. But not until he took care of this little shit, he decided.

Daniel pulled a grenade out of his belt and pulled the pin with his teeth. No sense in being quiet anymore, he thought. He opened the door; and tossed the grenade out, darting behind the wall and toward the trouble. He felt a little bad, losing a man, but it wasn't as if he would be able to carry Murray's ass out of there anyway.

The explosion blew the French doors in; glass flying everywhere behind him, but his mind was already on the next problem at hand.

* * *

Stunned by the evening's events, Amy stumbled onto the bench. It was only when her rescuer was wrapping an arm around her waist that she realized that he was just a boy. He didn't even reach her shoulder in height. Her eyes looked down and she gasped. They were thirty-five stories above the streets of Gotham!

"I-I can't," she cried.

The boy wore a mask and bright red and black costume. The underside of his black cape glistened in the moonlight pale yellow. He couldn't be more than ten years old, she thought. There was no way he would be able to support her weight!

"There's no time," he told her, urgently tugging her closer.

The second gunman, the man who had shot Chad, opened the balcony door. She could hear the screams of the other people inside and sounds of suppressed gunfire more clearly now. Without a care for his downed man, this gunman tossed a small dark ball at them, before closing the door once more and ducking behind the wall.

"Grenade," the boy yelled.

He was stronger than he appeared, she thought absently as he drew her over the railing.

"Hold onto me," he ordered, and suddenly they were both swinging out over the streets of Gotham.

The explosion, however, pummeled them with bits of concrete and the violent shock tore her from his grip. She screamed as she felt herself falling when suddenly the boy's gloved hand caught her wrist. The boy cried out as gravity nearly tore her from his hold, and she dangled precariously some three hundred and fifty feet above the filthy pavement.

* * *

Jagged pieces of concrete sliced his skin and the blast from the grenade tossed Robin and the woman out above the street, spinning madly. The woman lost her grip on him and in a desperate bid to save her Robin let himself fall several feet in order to grasp her wrist. Her weight nearly tore her from his hold and he felt his shoulder give out with a pop!

He screamed in sudden hot agony.

How could he not? He felt the tendons in his arm tear. He couldn't even hold onto the line anymore. The only thing saving them was that his line had twisted around his wrist. The rope was so tight that the skin beneath his glove tore. He glanced up and watched as the blood ran from beneath his glove along his arm.

Gasping in pain, he looked at the woman he held. His grip on her was good, he thought. Just like his father had taught him on the trapeze. It would be better if she would grab his wrist in return.

"It's okay," he told her through gritted teeth. "I have you. I'm not going to drop you, I promise."

The wind was stronger this high up. It tugged her blonde hair free of its pins; whipping it around her face as it did her skirt about her legs. The moonlight teased him with mere glimpses of her wide-eyed face before the wind spun them back into the shadows.

"Hold onto me," Robin urged her. "Grab my arm!"

"We're going to fall," she screamed at him. He could barely hear her over the sound of the wind and his ringing ears.

The spinning loosened the rope on his wrist and he slipped a bit more before it went taut again. He grunted in pain and more blood ran up his arm, soaking his sleeve and tunic.

"Hang onto me," he ordered. Oh God, his arm killing him! "Just hang on. Batman will be here to help us in a few minutes." At least he hoped that would be the case.

Had Batman even realized Robin hadn't followed him in yet? It wouldn't take him long, but Robin had no idea how many gunmen there were. Batman might not be able to help them until he finished taking care of the men inside.

Her screams had tapered off, and she was gaping at him in confusion.

"I'm Robin," he yelled so she could hear him. He needed to keep her calm.

She stared at him. "I-I'm Amy." She looked down. Fear made her kick her feet a bit, and the extra movement sent shards of pain running through his chest and back.

"Amy, please," he cried out. "Don't move! Just grab my arm and hold still!"

Her other hand reached up and latched onto his forearm, making Robin grunt. She blurred just a bit as tears leaked from his eyes. He blinked to clear them only to see horror in her eyes. He glanced up to search out the danger but no one was there.

"What is it," he asked."What's wrong?"

"You're _bleeding_! I'm hurting you," she exclaimed.

* * *

One could only be terrified for so long. After the first few minutes of unbridled panic, she calmed a bit. The situation felt surreal. She and the boy were dangling high above the street. Cars looked like tiny toys from here and people like ants. She noticed with detachment the bright, flashing lights of police cars and emergency vehicles. They almost twinkled at this distance like patriotic stars.

The boy was speaking to her. He was hard to hear over the wind. She looked up and was amazed again at how small he seemed, and yet he had a death grip on her wrist. He was much stronger than he appeared to be.

"I'm Robin," he yelled down to her.

Dazed, she answered. "I-I'm Amy."

Robin laughed. "Hi, Amy," he said. "Um, Amy, I need your help here. You need to grab hold of my arm, just like I'm holding onto yours!"

Amy glanced back down, and reality seeped through her shock and suddenly crashed over her. Panic rose up in her throat like bile, and she jerked in fear. She was going to die!

"Amy, please," the boy, Robin, cried out. "Don't look down and don't move! Just grab my arm and hold still!"

The pain in his voice broke through, and Amy glanced up at him again. The blood streaking his arm glistened a shiny black in the moonlight. The rope was wrapped tight around his wrist. Even in the dim light, she could tell it was cutting into him; so hard it was making him bleed! Her eyes widened in horror as she realized there was something wrong with his shoulder. It didn't look right and was at an odd, uncomfortable angle to his body.

"You're _bleeding_! I'm hurting you," she exclaimed in horror. What the hell was she doing; clinging to a child to save her own life?

"It's okay, Amy. I'm not going to let go of you," he promised. "Batman will be here in a minute."

She didn't know who Batman was. She didn't know who this masked boy was. What she did know was that her weight was tearing his arm from its socket. She was hurting him; seriously hurting him. And she knew that in a matter of minutes they were both going to fall to their deaths if she continued to hold onto him.

What an amazing boy he was, she marveled. How brave! She imagined that if she and Chad were lucky enough to have a son, that he might be as brave as this one. And then she remembered. Her face crumpled with the knowledge that there would be no child now. Tears coursed down her face only to be whipped away by the wind.

They had once argued about who between them would go first. Neither she nor Chad had wanted to be the one left behind.

Her perfect night . . . She knew now how it was going to end.

But she would be _damned_ if she took a child along with her.

* * *

Robin saw her changing expressions, and realized the second she had decided what she was going to do. His heart raced as fear coursed through him.

"No," he said. "Don't do it!"

She smiled at him and let go of his arm. Only his grip on her wrist held her up now.

"It's okay, Robin. It will be okay, now," she told him.

"No, Amy," he begged her. "Batman's coming! He's coming! He'll get us out of this!"

"I'm _hurting_ you," she said. "I'm too heavy. We will both fall if I don't let go."

"_No_," he cried. "I've got you! I won't let go!"

But his hand was slipping. They could both feel it. He grimaced and cried out as the pain in his shoulder grew too much for even his adrenaline to handle.

"It will be all right," she soothed. "I don't mind."

"But I _do_!" Robin was crying now. "Please, hold on!"

"This isn't your fault," she assured him. "This is my choice."

Amy reached up for his wrist, and Robin panicked as she pried his fingers apart.

"_No_! No, don't," he implored. "_Please_, don't do this!"

"You're such a _good_ boy," she told him. "So brave." She smiled at him. "It will be alright now."

She let go.

"**_Nooooo_**," Robin screamed as he watched her fall.

* * *

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	3. Enter the Bat

**Warning: Bad Language; Disturbing Images . . .**

* * *

Batman crept around the group of people there for the auction. He used the cover to survey the area. He saw several downed security guards; all of them lying so still that there was little doubt that they were already dead. He counted men and found five, no six armed to the teeth. One of them kept a rifle trained on the guests, but he must have found them sufficiently cowed for his gaze continued to follow his 'co-workers' movements as they hustled out obviously pre-selected pieces of art.

From the startled looks of nearly a third of the hostages, Batman guessed that at least that many were from out of town. The remaining two-thirds seemed to, not quite relax, but be less tense now that they had seen their resident vigilante. His presence didn't ensure their safety as much as all parties would have preferred. A casual whisper or two seemed to calm the newcomers down a bit.

He glanced back and didn't see Robin. He must have curved around the other side of the crowd. The boy was progressing in leaps and bounds in his critical thinking skills; making intuitive and logical decisions when tackling criminals, but Batman would have preferred making eye contact before they struck. R&amp;D at Wayne Tech had completed a promising new prototype communicator that was wireless, waterproofed, and tiny to easily fit into the ear canal. The only reason he hadn't used the technology already was because it was still easily washed away if the wearer happened to be in water, and the encryption programming wasn't yet satisfactory. What good would it do to use the device only to have half of Gotham tuning in to eavesdrop on the conversation? But soon . . .

He had to try to do this quietly at first. A grand entrance might make some of these gunmen start shooting the hostages. He pulled three sedative darts and a mini blowgun from his pouch. Fate was smiling on him. He very nearly took these out last time he restocked his utility belt. This should cut how many men he and Robin needed to take down in half.

He shot the gunmen watching the crowd with one of the darts. The man slapped at his neck like he was swatting a fly, and then stared in dazed confusion at the tiny dart in his hand. Luckily the sedative was extremely strong and fast-acting; so much so that two darts in a one hundred and seventy pound man would depress his respiration and heart rate enough to kill him. He watched as the automatic rifle clattered to the floor unheeded, and the gunman slid down the wall unconscious before he hit the ground.

Another gunman was walking from behind the staging area with a large painting; large enough to prevent him from sighting his unconscious buddy slumped along the wall. Batman stepped up behind him and simply stabbed the man in the neck with the second dart; lifting the painting safely out of the crashing gunman's hands. He stepped back to his hiding place and carefully propped the valuable painting against the wall.

The next gunman to walk out was carrying an incredibly expensive and extremely rare Chinese vase. He should know; Bruce Wayne had been the donor of the piece. Despite its value, he had never been fond of it. Dick had always referred to it as the ugly one of his vast collection. Seemed like a good way to get rid of it and help a worthy charity all in one move by donating it to the auction.

This guy noticed his two unconscious co-workers immediately, but Batman was ready for him. The man was pulling out his weapon while juggling the vase in one hand. Batman stepped up and tossed the vase in the air, simultaneously punching the man in the face and kicking the back of his knee. The gunman went down and Batman rescued the ugly vase. A kick to the head with the heel of his boot sent the gunman into a forced slumber. He moved the vase into the corner with the painting.

Was it safe enough to start moving people from the room? Why wasn't Robin helping people leave? His eyes darted around searching for the boy. When people started to shift, Batman halted them with a hand. He couldn't send them into the hallway without the boy to protect them. There were still three men unaccounted for that could return any moment.

"Where's the boy," he growled at the crowd.

Several looked at him like he's crazy, but then why wouldn't they? He knew that Batman's fame was limited to Gotham and a few surrounding cities. But the Gothamites were well aware of Robin's existence. He was big news not so long ago when a lucky cameraman caught a full forty-second run of the boy in action.

"Did you bring him?" This was asked by one gentleman near the front.

A woman turned to others behind her and repeated the question. "Where's Robin?"

Several answered, but none were Robin, and none with words that Batman wanted to hear.

"I haven't seen him."

"You brought a _child_ to this?"

"He's not here!"

From behind Batman, a fourth gunman appeared from behind the staging area carrying another painting. He nearly tripped on his partner in crime. He dropped the painting and brought up his rifle, even as Batman threw the last dart at him with backhanded throw. The rifle went off, spraying the wall and the ceiling with bullets as he went down. Although none of the weapons' fire was near the crowd, screams went up in response. Several people threw themselves to the floor and many more crowded back along the wall or pushed out the door to the balcony.

Suddenly an explosion rocked the connecting room. Glass could be seen spraying across the floor through the doorway! More screams as the auction guests tried to get away from the violence. They darted in front of Batman toward the relative safety of the backstage area.

Did Robin decide to enter through another door? Dear God, had he been caught in that explosion? Batman pushed through what had now become a mob of panicked people. A second later another gunman, one previously unaccounted for, steps around the doorway and into the room. His gun is up and he begins shooting. Two innocent men in front of the Bat fall victim to flying bullets. Batman pulled out a Batarang and throws it to the side with a flick of his wrist. The modified boomerang makes a swift, graceful arc and slams into the man's hand.

With a cry, this man drops the rifle even as he pulls out a pistol with his uninjured left hand. He grabs the woman nearest him; using her as a shield as he begins backing up toward the exit.

* * *

_What the hell_?

Daniel yelped as something fast and sharp embedded itself into his right hand. He doesn't worry about trying to hold onto the rifle at this stage. His left hand has already freed his handgun from its holster. As some middle-aged, rich dame darts in front of him; Daniel reaches out and grabs her. She is just fat enough to give him decent coverage. His right hand is bleeding and she shudders as the warm flow drips steadily onto her sky-blue, Donna Karan, designer gown and slithers disgustingly down her ample cleavage.

Quick's eyes widen as he catches a glimpse of some kind of hell-spawn creature stalking through the crowd towards him. The flash of terror is quickly replaced as soon as Daniel realizes that it is merely a man in a wild-ass costume barreling in his direction. Men can die, even while wearing crazy bat costumes, he thinks as he takes shots at him. The man, however, throws up his cape and keeps coming.

_What the_ _fuck_?

First that kid playing like he's freaking Tarzan or Errol Flynn or something, and now Count Dracula with a bullet-proof cape? Why'd no one warn him of the crazies that come out at night in Gotham? He changes tactics and puts the pistol to the shrieking woman's head.

"Back off, freak," he yelled. "I don't have a problem taking her head off! Just one shot is all it will take. Enters the temple here," he taps her hard against the side of her head. "And the bullet exits the other side along with half of her skull. Closed casket funeral."

The woman's eyes roll up inside of her head and she begins to slump. Too heavy to drag; Daniel drops her, cursing his strange change of luck.

"Goddamnit," he snarls as he begins laying cover fire.

He runs backward toward the exit to the hallway, holding off the Bat-fuck with constant stream of bullets. His right hand might not be able to hold a gun, but he could still press the switch on the small communicator he has attached to his belt. The helicopter would be ready for him as soon as he exited onto the roof.

Two of his men almost ran into him as they came back from stashing the goods onto the chopper. They immediately join in the fight; firing at the Bat with their rifles and stopping the guy from advancing. In a swirl of cape, Daniel watched as the maniac threw himself toward a table of refreshments; toppling it to create a shield. Not that a table could stand up long to the barrage of bullets coming at it now. In seconds the table splits in two.

Suddenly there is a burst of smoke and the entire left side of the ballroom disappears within it.

_Shit_! That nutjob could be anywhere!

He yelled at his men and they turn to run back in the direction of the stairs. To hell with this! The job had turned into a fiasco. Daniel doubts that the goods they had managed to take would cover the cost of the chopper. And he had lost several of his best men along the way!

* * *

Batman only took a step in pursuit when he remembered again his missing Robin. He hadn't seen the boy once since entering the building! As he remembers that initial explosion; he decided to leave the last three men to whatever Gotham PD might have waiting for them. He runs back to the shattered balcony door; his heart in his throat.

One glance reveals the bodies of one guest and one gunman, but no little bird. Oddly enough, this does nothing to relieve Batman's sudden terror. In all the fighting and gunfire, the boy hadn't made his presence known at _all_, and he knew that wouldn't happen unless the boy _couldn't_ for some reason.

His gaze spots the taut line from one of their grapple guns. Running to the balcony rail, he peered over the edge. In the darkness, all he can see is a gently rocking shadow against the bright, flashing lights of the police cars and ambulance's below. Although he can hear the shouts and activity of police and emergency workers, he ignores them in favor of the frighteningly still and silent figure below.

"Robin," he shouts.

The wind had picked up some since they had landed on the neighboring balcony just a mere sixteen minutes ago. The only movement he could see he attributed to the wind that caused the line to sway gently. The shadow either hasn't replied due to the sound of the rushing wind or, he swallowed, inability.

Batman shot a line to the roof near the spot where Robin's was secured. He stepped onto the bench and then the rail and then slowly began to lower himself over the edge. It wasn't far to go; just a couple of stories down until he would be even with the boy. Was he unconscious? Robin had yet to speak or even acknowledge him at all.

"Robin? Talk to me," Batman spoke loudly to be heard over the wind. "Are you hurt?"

Upon getting no response, Batman determined the boy was in shock. His eyes immediately search out and assess for injuries, and his breath catches at the most obvious ones. Robin's shoulder is dislocated and the line caught around his wrist is tight enough to cut into his skin and cut off circulation. But it was the only thing that was keeping him from falling more than three hundred feet to his death. Batman secured his line to a special link in his belt. He would need both hands for this.

Batman wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling him gently to him; carefully taking the boy's weight from his injured shoulder. But relieving his arm and shoulder of the tension didn't bring the needed relief. The small movement sent torrents of pain shooting through Robin's body, and he was suddenly pulled out of his state of shock; screaming.

Cursing under his breath, Batman clutched his son to him tightly. The pain would only get worse as the arm changed position when they began ascending. Batman shifted his hold on the boy as he searched his belt for another sedative. He only had two painkillers on hand and they were merely ibuprofen in tablet form. It wouldn't give the boy the kind of relief he would need. Better to knock him out for this.

Robin lifted his head and looked at the man holding him; speaking finally. "Where _were_ you," he cried. "We needed you! Where were you?"

Batman froze. "We? Who is 'we'?"

"The _woman_! _Amy_," the boy began sobbing. "I couldn't save her! I tried to hold on to her, but she just let go!"

_Dear God_!

Batman twisted to look below them. They were too far up to see much, but there was a flurry of movement right below them. H reached up with his free hand to switch his lenses to telescopic and the scene below jumped into view with sickening clarity.

Several police and emergency workers surrounded a broken figure splayed on the crushed hood and shattered windshield of a police cruiser. Long hair and gown confirmed that this poor woman was Amy. In the dim lighting the blood that surrounded her and covered the vehicle appeared black. He was certain that was not the case for those standing next to her. As he watched, an emergency worker spread a blanket over her body.

"She pried my finger loose, Bruce! Why would she do that?" Robin cried. "_Why_?"

Shock was making Dick hysterical. He was forgetting their situation; forgetting that he was Robin and calling Batman by his real identity. He reached back into his utility belt for the tiny capsule of the knock-out drug. It was an intensely powerful gas, especially prepared to render its victim unconscious for ten minutes; plenty of time in the normal course of events, but not nearly enough time to get Robin topside and to the safety of the Batmobile. Turning his face away, the last thing they needed was for Batman to accidentally knock himself out. He held the capsule against Robin's nose.

"Breathe deep for me, Dick," he ordered, and broke the capsule between his fingers. He knew it worked when the boy abruptly sagged against him; dead weight.

Wasting no time, Batman hit recoil and they began to rise. Switching his hold on the boy, Batman used one hand to support the injured arm as it was lowered. Once they reached the balcony, Batman swung his legs over the railing. By this time, there was an elderly couple weeping over the man in the tuxedo. Police were milling throughout the room beyond.

"Batman!" Commissioner Gordon appeared at his side and helped the Caped Crusader lift Robin over the rail.

"Be careful of his shoulder," Batman warned. "It's been dislocated. I need to untangle the rope around his wrist as quickly as possible."

The commissioner's eyes widened as he helped adjust the boy in Batman's arms. He tried to untangle the rope but it was far too tight, and wouldn't loosen enough to tug free.

Batman stepped over the gunman's body and moved into the ballroom. He laid the boy down on the floor, the rope following him in. He pulled out one of his collapsible Batarangs that could double as a knife. It was strong and sharp enough to cut through a finger, bone and all, like butter. He used it to sever the line. As he unwrapped it from Robin's wrist the true damage became visible.

The rope had shredded the leather of the glove and then tore through skin and some of the tendons alike. He could even glimpse bone through the mangled mess! The trickle of blood began to pour from the wound now that the tension provided by the rope was released. Batman yanked out sterile pads and gauze from the mini first aid kit in his belt. He wrapped the wrist snugly, but blood was soaking the bandage almost before he could finish.

"Dear Lord," Gordon breathed. "He's bound to have some nerve damage from this. What happened?"

"I'm not certain," Batman murmured. "I was handling the men inside. I heard an explosion out here, but by the time I could reach the balcony, those two were dead and Robin was dangling over the side." He leaned over to cut a piece of the tablecloth before collapsing the Batarang and tucking it away.

"The explosion was from a grenade. That poor fellow," Gordon said, obviously indicating the dead guest, "we believe was dead before it went off. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. The amount of blood indicates the bullet found a major artery. There was a woman that fell to her death as well."

Batman's jaw tensed. "Robin tried to save her. I think it was her added weight that did all this damage. He said something about her prying his fingers loose and letting go."

He spread the material over the boy's chest and began carefully arranging his damaged arm across it. He pulled the ends around and tied it up, creating a makeshift sling to help immobilize the arm and reduce the stress on the shoulder. Normally, he could have relocated the joint himself, but he could tell at a glance that the damage had been extensive. He wouldn't risk causing more damage without getting X-rays, and he suspected the aid of a skilled surgeon.

"Ah, damn it," Gordon shook his head; pity in his eyes. "That is going to eat at him, all right. He must have been upset before he passed out."

"Upset isn't the word I would have chosen."

He had less than two minutes before Robin began regaining consciousness. His jaw worked as he made the decision to pull out another sedative capsule. He still had to get the boy down thirty-five stories and into the Batmobile. Even without the risk of the delirious boy accidentally blurting out their secret identities in a hotel full of police, Batman would prefer he remain unconscious to avoid the pain moving him would cause.

"I need to see that he gets medical treatment. I will contact you tomorrow to go over the details. There were three men that are unaccounted for. They made their escape while I rescued Robin. I heard a helicopter leaving from the roof from the balcony. You might consider checking all the local airstrips."

Robin moaned, indicating consciousness was rapidly returning. Batman held the capsule beneath his nose and snapped it open just as the boy breathed in. The returning tension slid away in seconds.

"What was that you just gave him," Gordon asked as he assisted Batman lifting the boy into his arms.

"A quick-acting sedative," Batman told him. "It will make it less painful to transport him."

With those words, he turned and carried his precious burden away.

* * *

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	4. The Pain of Failure

**Warning: Language and Disturbing Images . . .**

* * *

The elevators had been turned off by the criminals, and maintenance had yet to get it up and running. It was almost enough for Batman to try to get Robin down using a jump line. Perhaps if the boy hadn't been injured and unconscious he would have, but he didn't have a line that was long enough to take the two of them down thirty-five stories safely. Normally, he would have either swung to a secondary, much smaller building or shot off another line at the end of the first. Holding onto Robin made doing that hazardous, and he wouldn't take the risk unless he had no other options. Tonight his other option was taking the stairs.

He was not looking forward to thirty-five flights of stairs while carrying an extra 75 lbs. of dead weight. At least it was going down . . . But the real problem was the time it was going to take him to reach the ground. It might not have been an issue, but police and emergency personnel as well as annoyed hotel guests were also traversing the stairs. He wouldn't be able to go down them with any speed, not that he could have went at top speed carrying Robin anyway, but he was becoming worried that Robin would wake before he could get him to the batmobile.

As it was, Batman was forced to shift the boy's position in his arms after just one flight. There simply wasn't room enough to carry him cradled, so he shifted Robin upright to allow him to rest his head on Batman's shoulder. He knew it would bother the boy if he knew so many police officers would see him unconscious like this because it would remind them that Robin was a child and they would no longer see him in the crime-fighter image he sought to invoke. It was a risk, Batman admitted, that the boy would lose a certain amount of credibility and be thought of as weak or incapable, but there simply was no other viable choice if he wanted to get Robin treatment as quickly as possible.

On the seventh floor Batman conceded that the boy would be waking up by the time he made the lobby. There were far more people on the stairs on the lower floors than there had been above and he was losing all the progress he had made early on. It seemed like everyone he had passed wanted to ask after Robin's health or make some comment or other thing. He was rather pleasantly surprised that he had met with very few angry accusations of child abuse during the trip down the stairwell. And while it was satisfying to see the level of interest and compassion that citizens and police alike had for Robin, it was preventing him from getting the child the medical attention he needed.

As Robin began stirring on the third floor, he wondered if the anyone had managed to remove the young woman's body yet. He hit the remote on the Batmobile to bring it as near to the hotel as he could get. Robin moaned and gasped. Although he repositioned his head on Batman's shoulder, he didn't believe the boy had completely regained consciousness.

"Move," he commanded. He needed to get Robin out of here now. Many people stopped, startled by his deep voice. But several people moved to one side, allowing the Batman and his burden to swiftly move past them.

As soon as he had cleared the door that led to the lobby and no longer had to worry about causing someone to fall down a flight of stairs, Batman stopped being considerate of the people around him and began shoving people out of his way.

"Make way," he barked once and cleared a good sized space as people in close proximity darted out of his way.

He could see the Batmobile idling in the street beyond the lobby doors. _So close_. Robin whined, and raised his head to look around.

_Damn it_! _So close_. He started to shift the boy to his other side; hoping to put him opposite of where he knew the young woman had landed, but Robin stiffened and cried out. _Shit_! Why hadn't he consider this earlier when the child was still unconscious?

_Because there were still too many people on the stairs around him to have managed it safely_, he growled to himself.

"Sh, lay your head back down," Batman told him.

"Wh-where are we?" Robin blinked bleary, pain-filled eyes. As the sight of a dozen police officers and numerous hotel guests, he began to squirm despite the pain that shot out from his shoulder and wrist. "Let me down," he gasped. "I can walk."

"We're almost there. Don't worry about it, chum; I've got you," Batman said, pushing through the crowd even faster.

"No," Robin insisted. Too many people were looking at him like he was some defenseless child. He couldn't stand that 'poor baby' look that he saw several people giving him, especially a couple of the police officers. "Let me down, Batman. Now!"

Batman sighed and lowered him to the floor. His eyes flickered over to the window to the left. He could now see the car where the woman, Amy, had landed. _Goddamnit_! _They were just moving her now_? It might have been better had she been left there covered by the blanket than to move her when Robin still had to pass through. The activity was sure to grab the boy's attention.

Desperate to keep the scene from Robin, he pushed the boy to his right side and kept his hand on his good shoulder to hopefully keep him moving along without delay. If Batman could keep himself positioned between Robin and the woman, he might be able to get the boy out of here without his coming face-to-face with what he perceived as his failure.

He glanced down at his young partner. Robin still seemed a little out of it; the leftovers from the sedative, but side effects cleared up quickly. He still had one sedative left, but it was too dangerous to use a third time on someone so small in such rapid succession. The chances that Robin wouldn't wake up increased exponentially with each dose, but he didn't regret giving him the second dose earlier. The pain he would have been in going down the stairs would have been excruciating, and based upon the increasing amount of trembling he could feel vibrating through the child's body even now confirmed that Robin wouldn't been able to handle so many flights on his own.

"The Batmobile is right in front of the hotel," he told the boy. "Just on the other side of those emergency vehicles. We're going to go straight there without stopping."

Robin glanced up at him, and Batman could see the strain even through the mask. As uncomfortable as he was, maybe he wouldn't care to look around him. But as the sedative's effects wore off, the boy became more alert, and more likely to remember Amy. He squashed the urge to throw his cape around the boy as they moved out. Robin wouldn't appreciate it any more than he wanted Batman to carry him around in public.

They crossed the threshhold and the sounds seemed to be amplified in the open air. Voices could be heard talking all around them, but those near the scene of Amy's demise were the loudest.

"Be careful. There are a lot of broken bones."

"Oh my God, there is nothing left to the back of her head."

"I didn't hear her scream. Did you?"

"Maybe she was dead before she hit."

"God, I hope so."

Batman tightened his grip on Robin's shoulder and pushed the boy forward when he would have faltered. There was too much talk, but how could he expect otherwise. A woman falling thirty-five stories onto the hood of a police car was incredibly dramatic, even without the once white ball gown.

Suddenly Robin's steps stop. Looking down he sees the boy staring behind Batman's back at the horrific scene. Any hope that the boy didn't actually see the body was snuffed out by the sound of a sob. He spun out of Batman's grasp and ran over to the car. An emergency worker moved to grab the boy, but Robin was faster. He skidded to a halt a few feet away, staring.

_Damn it_! He hadn't wanted Dick to see this. It was far too close to what had happened to his parents. At that time, there had been nothing he could have possibly done to save them. Now, however, he would tear himself apart wondering what he should have done differently that might have enabled him to have saved this woman. Batman almost feared his success, for should he realize that another action, another decision would have saved them both, the boy might never completely recover from the guilt he knew the child would suffer as a result. There were already too many regrets that Batman himself had to live with; he didn't want that for his son . . . Not yet. He sighed. Not ever.

* * *

Amy's body was still mostly concealed by the blanket, but blonde hair stained red hung down the side of the police cruiser. One hand was exposed, pale and splattered with blood; her wrist was bruised with the shape of a small hand . . . Evidence of Robin's failure to save her.

Batman's hand came down onto Robin's good shoulder, and the boy shuddered.

"Come, Robin. Let's move out of the way and let these men do their job," Batman said to him; his voice low and soft, gentle even.

Robin turned around and stepped into the shadow of the cape, this time willingly. He buried his face into his mentor's side, no longer worried about being strong in front of others. The pain in his heart was as sharp as the pain that was radiating from his shoulder; both were growing in strength. All too soon Robin wouldn't be capable of remaining stoic in the company of others.

The boy managed to remain silent for the last several yards it took to reach the waiting Batmobile. He bit his lip as Batman ignored the seatbelt in favor of the harness that he drew protectively over Robin's injured arm and shoulder. It would help prevent unnecessary jostling during the ride home.

As if he knew Robin's thoughts, Batman clarified their destination. "We're going to Leslie's clinic before home. Your wrist is beyond what Agent A or I could handle. It will definitely need surgery. Your shoulder, also, looks like there may be some damage to the tendons and surrounding muscles that may require a surgeon's touch. Prepare yourself for a good bit of physical and occupational therapy after this."

Although Batman's words were spoken almost kindly and certainly softly, Robin could barely acknowledge them. The pain was back with a vengeance and the shock of earlier was slow in reasserting itself. It was there, however, just not there enough to be helpful. It was a stupid thought since shock could be life-threatening, but right now, Robin preferred the detached numbness to the deep, pounding throb that encompassed his entire left side and was punctuated by sharp, stabbing pain that usually accompanied torn and ripped muscles.

And overshadowing all of that was the soul-crushing guilt and grief of knowing he had failed. He failed as Robin, and even worse, he had failed Amy . . . Why hadn't she trusted him? If only he had been stronger; held her for longer; not allowed her to pull his fingers away.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that she very likely saved his life by letting go, but she was a civilian. It wasn't her job to save him; it had been his to save hers! Robin knew that to wish otherwise would have doomed them both, but there had to have been something he could have done differently. The events of the evening swirled through his mind in a sickening, dizzy pattern that made little to no sense, but despite that, Robin searched the crazy, spinning images for some inspiration that might have led to an ending that wasn't drenched in tragedy for Amy or complete failure on his part.

As soon as Batman climbed behind the wheel and closed the door, Dick ripped his mask from from his face and allowed himself to scream through gritted teeth; for his pain, for his failure, for the disappointment that Dick knew Batman must feel in him, but mostly for having been unable to keep his promise to Amy. And though he tried to keep them in; keep them hidden, the tears came hard. Batman paused only long enough to run a comforting hand over the boy's hair. Unfortunately, knowing there was nothing he could do without the help of Leslie and strong drugs that he didn't currently have access to, Bruce put the Batmobile into gear, slammed on the gas, and peeled out.

* * *

**Reactions? Opinions?**

**One of the struggles that ****any hero must deal with**** is that of the guilt that rides in on the coat tails of failure. And then overcoming the relentless game of "What if" that inevitably follows. **


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